Rat Runners (24 page)

“George, hey!” Nica shouted, turning and waving to her. The girl’s own pair of sunglasses failed to hide the bags under her eyes as Manikin drew closer. Her voice dropped when Manikin sat down at the table. “Thanks for coming. I’m really brickin’ it here. If Mum finds out I’ve lost that book, she’s going to skin me alive. It’s her contact who gets the books, so I can’t go looking that way to replace it.”

“No problem,” Manikin said, smiling and shrugging. “I’ll see what I can do. I’ve got a friend near here who specializes in Orwell. We can just get out of here, and head around to …”

Her words faltered; Nica had just noticed the four men sitting nearby. They were looking over at her. From her expression, it was clear that she recognized them.

“Listen, I … I … just … I can’t go anywhere right now,” Nica said. There was a quiver in her voice. “I’d really appreciate your help with this, but I need to go now. Could we meet up some other time? We could—”

“Nica,” Manikin said to her in a firm tone. “Nica, listen to me. Stop looking at them and listen to me for a minute. I know those men. I know what they are. But how come
you
know them?”

Nica pushed her sunglasses up her nose, but they could not conceal the barely suppressed fear on her face. She turned her head away, pretending to look up at the high buildings above them, or watch the reflections on the lake.

“Talk to me, Nica,” Manikin tried again.

“I only recognize that big one,” came the terse reply. “Or at least, I know his hands—those scars on his knuckles. He’s got implants. Those guys are gangsters. They’re looking for something my dad was working on. He’s … he’s a—he
was
a scientist, a biologist, and he had this project he’d spent years on for some private client. He never told me much about it, but he told me if he got it right, he’d be able to fix my … my birthmark.” Her hand unconsciously brushed the side of her face. “Anyway, some gang boss found out what he was working on, figured it was worth a fortune, and just told my dad to hand it over when it was done, and to hell with the client who was paying all the bills.

“When my dad said no, that big guy there, the ogre with the bald head and gold teeth, came here in the middle of the night, broke into our apartment, sat down next to my bed. He took a … a picture of me sleeping, with his hand stroking my hair. They … they gave it to Dad—he … showed me the picture when I last saw him. That’s how I recognize the hands. He told me about this a few days ago, and I wouldn’t believe him until I saw that photo.

“Dad was terrified,” Nica went on. “He told me he’d do whatever they wanted. He couldn’t take the chance that they’d hurt me. But I reckon he didn’t give it to them before he died. I … I think that’s what really happened to him. I think … I think he refused to give it to them and they killed him for it. Don’t ask me how. I know he’s supposed to have choked on a bloody hazelnut, but that’s just ridiculous. He
hated
hazelnuts. Those guys
must
have done it somehow.”

Manikin didn’t agree. She didn’t want to say it, but if Move-Easy had wanted to force Brundle to do anything, he’d simply have taken Nica hostage. Killing Brundle wouldn’t have got him what he wanted. Brundle was no use to them dead. And Move-Easy could always be counted on to do whatever it took to get his hands on the money.

“They’re here for me,” Nica said in a near-whisper, and Manikin was struck again by how stark and disfiguring the girl’s birthmark looked when the rest of her face went pale. “I don’t know what to do. How do I hide from people like that? No matter what I do, they’ll find me.”

Manikin stared over at the Turk, making no attempt to hide it. To hell with it, she thought. As far as she was concerned, Nimmo’s time was up. There was no reason for Nica to get hurt, not when he had the box. This had gone far enough. But at least now they could clear this whole thing up. Manikin could worry about what Move-Easy had planned for them after she’d got out of here.

“I can help you, Nica,” she said at last. “I know these guys, I can get them to back off if I can give them something they want. But you need to help me first. If this is to do with your dad, what was he working on, exactly? He was a biologist, working on fixing scar tissue, right? So what was he making?”

“I don’t know,” Nica sighed. “I was never really interested in the whole science thing, you know? And Dad hardly ever talked about his work. I just know he was working on something for this company, Axis something or other. Dad’s part of the project fell through—it wasn’t working, so they fired him in the end. But he found this private client to pay for the research, and kept going on his own. And he said it would sort my birthmark, and just before he died, he got really excited about something, and I reckon he’d cracked it, whatever it was. Anyway, that’s all I know.”

Manikin pressed her lips together in frustration, tapping her fingernails on the glass table. Had Move-Easy’s men screwed up? Had they killed Brundle before they got their hands on the seed thing? Or had Vapor’s men killed him to keep Easy from getting it? It didn’t matter. What mattered to Manikin was handing over that box to Move-Easy, and keeping her and her brother alive—and Scope, Nica and Nimmo too, if it was possible.

“Listen,” she said to Nica. “You’re right, these guys will get you if they want you. You’re not even safe with the police—the guy who’s after you owns as many coppers as he does criminals. If you want to stay safe, stay out in public, stay in front of the cameras.”

“I can’t do that for ever!” Nica cried softly.

“You won’t need to,” Manikin said. “Just for today. Stay out of their reach for today. I’m going to take care of this.”

Without saying anything more, she stood up, picked up her bag and strode over to where the Turk and his men were sitting, sipping their tea. Confident that they wouldn’t try anything with so many witnesses around, she leaned over the table and locked eyes with the huge man.

“It’s me, Manikin,” she said in a tight voice. “We know where the box is. We’ll have it for Easy within the hour. Leave her alone—she’s no use to you, now that her dad’s dead. Leave her be.”

“Not for us to decide, my love,” the Turk replied in a thick Greek accent, making a regretful face that was almost cartoonish. He held the knuckles of his fists a couple of centimeters apart on the table, and blue arcs of electricity crackled between them. “We do not make decisions. We just watch. We watch her, we watch you, we watch Brundle’s lab, we watch Vapor and Vapor’s fellows. Always we are watching.”

“You know who Vapor is?” Manikin asked, intrigued despite herself.

“The boss does. He knows many things about many people. You scoot along and fetch box—bring back to us. Mister Easy is very reasonable man. I am sure he will listen to your appeal.”

Manikin stood up straight. She prided herself on being a keen judge of human nature, on being able to read someone by their body language and tone of voice. She saw the way these four men were looking at her, with their chilly, uncaring stares, their closed-off expressions, their postures suggesting that they had no interest in what she said, that they were waiting for something else. In that moment, she became certain that these men meant her harm.

Turning on her heel, she strode off towards the nearest exit, needing to get out onto the road beyond the apartment blocks. It took all her self-control not to break into a run.

IT HAD BEEN agreed among Nimmo, FX and Scope that, before retrieving the box, the three rat-runners would search Brundle’s lab for any last evidence that might provide a clear picture of his work, and an explanation for his death. They all figured the less time they actually had the case in their hands, the less risk they were taking.

They climbed up through the building without meeting anyone, including the inquisitive Mrs. Caper. It took Nimmo no time at all to pick the lock, and then they were inside. Nimmo had stopped to close the door again, so it was FX who walked past the pug dog toy sitting on the office desk. All three of them jumped in fright as it started barking and frantically nodding its head.

“Jesus, that nearly gave me a heart attack,” FX said, taking a deep breath.

Scope let out a breath of her own and nodded. Nimmo grinned.

“I keep forgetting about that bloody thing.”

FX picked it up, turning it over, but there was no off switch. The battery was sealed into it, so he just put it down by the door, where its infra-red sensor wouldn’t detect them. Then they began the business of searching the lab.

FX went straight over to what Nimmo said was Brundle’s main computer. It booted up quickly, and he set about exploring its files.

“Somebody’s been on this since Brundle died,” he told them. “They’ve wiped all the files, but they left the hard drive intact—too sloppy for Vapor’s lot, so it must have been Move-Easy’s trolls.” It was very difficult to delete digital files properly without completely wiping the drive; most of what got deleted from a desktop could still be saved. “I’m going to try and retrieve as much of it as I can.”

Scope was going through the research materials and lab equipment, looking for anything that might be useful, with Nimmo helping her. He watched as she looked at machines and dismissed them, switching on anything that could store computer files, or examining the contents of others.

“Implants,” she said, studying something under a microscope. “Figured as much. He was using implants—and not just using them, I think he was
making
them. But there’s nothing here I haven’t seen before.”

“He had a stash of notebooks,” Nimmo told her. “Kept them in his safe. It’s in the clean room at the end there.”

“Really? He actually wrote stuff down on paper? And did he know you knew where his safe was?”

“It’s not like it’s well hidden.” Nimmo opened the door into the clean room. “It’s just built into the wall behind a set of shelves.”

“Oh sure, that’s hardly hidden at all.”

“Anyway, if there’s anything he was trying to keep secure, it’ll be in there. What he probably didn’t realize is that I knew the combination.”

“How?” Scope asked, as she followed him through the airlock of plastic sheeting.

An air shower system would normally have been working to filter the impurities out of the air as anyone entering put on disposable coveralls in the airlock. Nimmo didn’t bother with the coveralls. Scope was about to object, but then decided she’d just sound stupid. Brundle was dead, and they were in a rush.

“Because the numpty wrote down all his useful numbers on a sheet in his wallet,” Nimmo sniffed. “I had a quick look at his wallet one time.”

“Bloody hell! You’ve never just taken a quick look at my wallet, have you? Nimmo? Have you?”

“No,” said Nimmo. “Not yet, anyway. You’re not keeping any really personal secrets in there, are you?”

“That’s not funny! Don’t ever mess with my stuff! You hear me? Nimmo?”

There was more lab equipment in here, all immaculately dirt- and dust-free. Scope loved it. Brundle’s lab was a lot smaller and not as well equipped as Tubby Reach’s, or even Move-Easy’s, but it had been perfectly fitted out for the needs of a biologist exploring bio-technology. Plastic vials lined the counters, and Scope looked at their labels, but it was some cataloguing system, and she’d need the index to figure it out.

The safe was set into the wall at one end of the clean room, where Brundle did all his micro-technology experiments. Nimmo swung open a set of aluminum shelves to reveal the door, which was as tall as he was. He gazed solemnly at the safe, which was clearly a serious affair. It had a keypad halfway up the left-hand side, and when Nimmo tapped in a six-digit number, it unlocked with a deep series of clicks, opening to reveal four shelves taken up with more plastic vials, and stacks of hardback, ring-bound notebooks, all wrapped in plastic to protect the work in the clean room.

“He kept handwritten notes,” Scope muttered, smiling to herself. “How
traditional
. Move-Easy’s got a stash like this somewhere. All the blackmail material he’s got on coppers, judges. It’s what makes him so untouchable. Old school, huh? Power in something as simple as the written word.”

“Plus you can’t hack paper and ink,” Nimmo said.

“No, but it’s easier to destroy,” FX said from behind them, holding up a data key. “I’ve downloaded everything I could retrieve off the hard drive, but there’s serious encryption on some of this stuff. Don’t know if I’ll be able to crack it. Looks like his back-up disks were nicked too.”

Scope hesitated for a moment, then pulled one of the packages of notebooks out and tore off the plastic. Opening one, she scanned through a few of the pages.

“This is it—these are his research notes,” she said. “Years of thoughts written down. Everything we need to know will be in here.”

Out in the main part of the lab, the pug dog started barking.

The three rat-runners froze, looking towards the door. Nimmo strode over to the airlock, pushing through the zip-lock curtains, and peered out through the crack in the open door. Then he gently pushed it closed, and pressed the button that locked it.